We need a better IDEA

I read the paper, and my breath halted at the weight of the sentence: agree to waive the right to a free appropriate public education (FAPE), and assume all educational responsibilities of your child. . . .

Whoa.  This was on us.  This was on ME.  I was to be the primary educator for my child with autism.  If I failed, he failed.

Steeling my resolve, I signed, and made one of the very best decisions I have ever made in my life.

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There has been much in the news lately about IDEA, with president-elect Trump’s Secretary of Education appointment, Betsy DeVos, being under fire for a perceived lack of knowledge on IDEA.  IDEA stands for the “Individuals With Disabilities Education Act”, and is the federal government’s legal assurance that all children, regardless of disability, are to be given a “free appropriate public education”, which includes as much inclusion with typical peers in a typical classroom as is possible for their ability.  It is a well-written, beautiful, 40 -page document handed to parents and educators across the nation, and no doubt was well-intentioned in its purpose. 

Much like our bill of rights, however, the scope and breadth of its application into the lives of those it was written to protect depends much upon the viewpoint of those administering the law itself. 

When I was first handed the 40 page book, I read it from cover to cover, because I am a nerd like that.  I found nothing alarming in its verbiage, and took comfort it the fact that it seemed to actually address every possible scenario my panic-stricken, scared, mother-of-a-freshly-diagnosed-child brain could come up with, which was a pretty impressive list.  I went to the IEP meeting at my local school district, which said that our son should be placed into an inclusive preschool to enhance his verbal and social skills, and after he was evaluated, was slated to have speech, occupational, and physical therapy.  We opted to forego PT as my husband is a PT, and instead were looking forward to speech and OT.

My independent research of all things autism----and I mean ALL things-----told me that our son needed “intensive therapies” for speech and OT.  Intensive. 

I lived in a very good school district, with professionals whom I believe genuinely cared about the progress of our son.  But I was rather dismayed when “intensive” meant, “group speech therapy”.  It meant 15 minutes of OT once a week.  I believe that he had a small amount of individual speech at that time, but it wasn’t very much.  Although I really enjoyed his therapists and was confident in their skill level, there was just not enough time to allocate to what our son needed----certainly not meeting the criteria of “intensive”.

His teacher was a first year special needs teacher.  I was teaching her about our son as I was learning him myself.  She was very good to work with, and I appreciated very, very greatly her willingness to adapt to him, but I was a little taken aback by the fact that I was trusting his, and truly my, education about autism to someone who had not had a student like him before, and I was doing it in his formative preschool years. 

Realizing that more therapeutic intervention was needed, we turned to our medical insurance.  Our insurance would NOT provide speech therapy for the treatment of autism.  Insurance companies realize that public schools pay for speech and OT, our pediatrician told us, and therefore force it to be covered by the public school.  Praise be to God, and I mean that with all sincerity, He provided a private speech therapist at a reasonable out-of-pocket cost that we endured for 3 years.  OT was covered, and we were very thankful to have an excellent OT. 

Now------I want you to image dropping off your diabetic child at the public school and asking them to treat their erratic blood sugar.  You would never dream of that, right?  That is what countless parents of children with autism are expected to do.  We are to drop our children off and ask, beg, plead, and cajole to receive the services we so desperately need from the very entity that has to spend the money for them. 

Think about it---do you have to go directly to your insurance company to get your medical treatments?  Of course not.  You have a buffer in your primary care physician.  You usually get to pick your PCP.  And while your PCP is bound somewhat by your insurance mandates, he can write and intervene on your behalf and get things covered for you.

Parents have no buffer.  If you are in a great district with great staff and an awesome teacher and principal and lots of property taxes and/or federal grant money, this is a bearable experience.  It may even be a good experience.  They may helpfully and cheerfully help to bear your load, and you may have wonderful outcomes, and you may have extremely qualified clinicians.  I hope this is your experience, whether you are an educator or parent reading this. 

But if not?

If not, prepare to fight Goliath.  You will battle for years.  You will be told that his needs do not “interfere with his educational progress”, and therefore aren’t covered in the IEP.  You will become bitter, a Mama Grizzly Extraordinaire.  You will fight and fight and cry and grieve and fight and become angry and fight until you can’t fight anymore to get what your child needs. You will be “that mom”, when you never ever wanted to be “that mom”.  You just want your child to get the help they need and deserve.

When I was in multiple waiting rooms for multiple therapies, I would hear conversations among parents regarding what the school was providing for one child in one district, and what they weren’t in another.   It ran the gamut from equine therapy (higher end tax base zip code) to no therapy (federal poverty level zip code). There was very little consistency from district to district. 

When we moved from Ohio to Oregon, I came to our local district with papers measuring three inches thick that included evaluations from professionals, test results, and a current IEP.  Because we home school, the only service I was seeking out was individual or group speech therapy, since his neurologist recommended speech until age 15.

In spite of this evidence, my request was denied.  There would be no group speech, even if I drove him to the appointment.  Even if I pay property taxes to my district.  Even if I home school all my children, and buy all my own curriculum, and give money to the school, but take none.   Even if the now-retired special education coordinator laughed at the notion that I expected our son to go to college.

Oregon is one of only two states in the country whose Medicaid programs do not cover autism therapies.  They have received a special waiver from the federal government that allows them to do so.  Obtaining information from the Kaiser Family Foundation, I was able to determine that of the 920,000 children who reside in Oregon, a whopping 407, 899 receive Medicaid. 

When at least 50% of the pediatric clientele lack insurance coverage for therapeutic interventions, how many skilled pediatric clinicians will set up shop and practice in Oregon?

How many of those children on Medicaid have autism?  How many don’t get necessary therapies from their school districts?  How many of them have single parents that can’t pay for/find/drive to therapy outside of the school for their children?  How many make too much money to be covered under MR/DD guidelines, but not enough to afford out of pocket clinicians?

And what clinicians would be used?  In our small county I know of only two practices that provide those therapies, and they don’t accept all insurance, or are out of network.  To find further therapy is a 2 ½ hour drive one way for services. 

The school district, then, is the gatekeeper.  The federal government allocates a portion of money to those students.  Unfortunately, the federal government hasn’t ever fully funded the program that they have made law.  As a result, many compassionate districts are simply unable to pay for the services that are truly needed to give children with autism----who face a staggering 90% unemployment rate in adulthood!------the services they need to obtain a modicum of self-sufficiency.  Overpopulated classrooms, coupled with children who often teeter somewhere between being mentally challenged while simultaneously brilliant, along with understaffing and a lack of professional development and education among some of those working with the autism population (please----I said “some”, not “all”) do not yield optimal results for many children.

In unscrupulous districts, the money never makes it to some of these children.  There is no safeguard in IDEA that specifies that X dollars must go to Student X. 

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When I signed the document waiving FAPE, I was doing so to obtain the Ohio Autism Scholarship.  The Autism Scholarship is funded by the Ohio Department of Education.  It gives the control of the money directly used by those students into a more equitable partnership of the parent and the school district.  My home district was extremely supportive of the scholarship.  My son received the intensive therapy he needed in his formative years, and I believe that it has had a lasting impact on him to this day. 

The other benefit to the scholarship is that because of free enterprise, there are many, many qualified ABA and speech therapists, counselors, OT’s, PT’s, and tutors (among other things) that have started in Ohio. There is a steady stream of income to those providers, which allows for excellent care. 

Is the scholarship perfect? No.  Is there fraud?  I am certain there is.  The Bible states that “the love of money is the root of all evil”, and there is certainly a lot of money involved in the scholarship.  Are the schools that have popped up to provide an education to those with autism “good” schools?  Maybe some are, and I am sure that some are not.

But what I do know is this:  I, who know my son like the very back of my hand, had more control of his therapy choices.  I didn’t have to plead with the gatekeeper.  I didn’t have to turn into “that mom”.  All the fighting I would have do to get what I needed, I could channel into helping him become the best him that he could be. I am so very thankful to God for the opportunity to live there in his formative years.

So where are we now?  Well, now I literally have no IDEA.  I am a rogue homeschooler devoid of therapy. 

That was all in the plan.

See, in November of 2007, when my precious boy changed overnight in my eyes because of a diagnosis, I did the only thing that I knew to do:

I “lifted mine eyes up into the hills, from whence comest my help; my help comes from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.”----Psalms 121:1. 

I kneeled on the side of his little toddler bed made with his sports bedspread, the sports that just two days before was sure he would be the star of, and now didn’t know what he would ever be able to do----and this mama prayed.  I begged God for two things:  the best clinicians possible, and wisdom in how to raise him.  After all, I had begged God to give him to me, and I had desired a child to raise for His glory.  And He provided me a sweet, wonderful boy.  God knows him and loves him far better than I do. 

To that, God has been abundantly, unbelievably, miraculously faithful.  I can’t even begin to tell you. He had the best therapists and he has the best neurologist. At one point in time, three of his clinicians sat on the governor’s board for autism.  I didn’t pay a penny for all that therapy. 

And now?  When I was denied by the school in 2014, I had to go to our insurance. And our insurance, which I had been told covered autism services, denied us.

I had to compose myself on the phone.  I hurried off, and collapsed on the bed.

And I felt God there, nudging me to release my son. . . .to Him. 

I had been hanging on, trusting in therapists and interventions.  Not trusting GOD, that this was all part of His plan, and that the plan is way bigger than my tiny point of view.  With His help, I did just that.  I felt the sweetest peace and relief wave over me.  It would all be OK.

So there is no speech.  There is no OT.  There is PT, and there is a customized education (which includes speech curriculum) by a diligent mama who would give her last breath for him.  Even if she dies doing fractions.

But there is peace, knowing that I am free to do what I need to do with minimal interference.

I don’t know the first thing about Betsy DeVos.  But what I do know is this:

Some of us just want to be left alone, to do what needs to be done.  We aren’t asking for you to do it for us.  We want the freedom of choice to do what is right for our children, for our unique circumstance that doesn’t fit into your paradigm.  Please, let us keep our choice.  I know charter schools and programs aren’t always a good thing.  Maybe they are mostly a bad thing, even.  But what makes this country great is that we have the freedom to do what is best for us and to do what we feel is right. IDEA isn’t working for all of us. 

It is time to explore a new IDEA.

Why You Should Try Camping When You Have Kids, Even If You Haven't Done It Before

Our family of six just returned from a short camping trip.  We stayed part of a day, two nights, and part of another day in the great outdoors.    

Why bother with camping?  Our family has found that no matter how we try to simplify, downsize, and limit distractions, unfortunately, we are still very distracted.  We have WIFI at home, cell phones, house projects in an ever-multiplying abundance, and mail to read and bills to pay.  We have good distractions too, like work, homeschool, and my husband pastors a church in addition to working at his secular job.  It is really difficult for us in some seasons to feel like we are “present and accounted for” for the better part of a day, much less a week or months.  Most things that clamor for our attention are very important things. 

Several areas of our life pay the cost for this; our children are one of those things. This is especially true concerning quality time with Daddy, as I am with them the vast majority of the time.  But freeing Daddy or me up to play and engage is sometimes difficult.  We are worker-bees, my husband and I, and we are trying to raise worker-bees.  But play is needful to express our love and appreciation for one another. 

Camping is a great time-out from regular life.   However. . . . .

When I first started camping, I was very excited about campfires, starry skies, s’mores, and hikes.  But after my first time camping with kids, I was beyond exhausted.  This didn’t seem fun AT ALL. This mama cooked, cleaned, and ate, and then it was time to cook, clean and eat again.  Repeat.  I decided that camping was, to quote myself, “like taking the comforts of home, paring them down to bare bones, and moving it all outside”.  I didn’t see the point.  All I wanted was Marriott.

I made a lot of camping mistakes early in the game, and I have learned some things:

1.  Keep it short and sweet:  On your first outing, just go overnight, or two.  If possible go on Monday-Thursday, as you will have a lot of the campground to yourself.
2.    Keep it close:  Don’t travel to Timbuktu to camp.  Stay somewhere close enough to travel to in about an hour and a half, and try to go somewhere you haven’t done much exploring already.  We have found that we prefer to camp in places that aren’t too far from the nearest town.  That way, should rain or boredom strike, we are in a great position to explore and just get out and about with no agenda.
3. Keep it “crunchy”:  You know how all those books are coming out now about de-cluttering being the key to a happy life?  Well, de-cluttering is THE KEY to a “happy camper mom”.  Leave your hair dryer, straightener, curling iron, and most of your makeup at home.  This is a time to be outdoors, and to be with your kids. No one cares as much as you do.  If you can let down your “care”, you will have a much more enjoyable time.  You don’t need more than 2 pairs of shoes, some clean underwear and socks, and a few shirts/pants per person.  Towels, check.  In fact, if you keep your trip very short and bathe everyone before you go and as soon as you get home (we may or may not have done this), you may be able to avoid all things shower-related at the campground.  This is very, very awesome when you have four kids to shower.  You can’t imagine how much time you waste in there.
4.   Keep it in a state park:  If you are concerned with economics, state and county parks are the best.  Research the campgrounds on your state parks’ website.  It usually lists the amenities available.  You may find one with a pool, and usually there are trails and playgrounds, etc.  Private campgrounds can be extremely nice.  But private campgrounds will usually charge you a base fee, plus a fee if you go over a certain “people limit”.  We almost always exceed the base “people limit”, and then the camping fee is in hotel range.  If we are in hotel range. . . then we hotel.
5.  Bring the kids’ bikes:  It sometimes looks like it is a requirement to bike if you are a kid in a campground.  If at all possible, bring your kids’ bikes. 
6.  Keep it SIMPLE:  All of it.  When we first went, part of what exhausted me was I was attempting to “play house” like my daughter might:  every time someone went into our little camper, I would resweeps/straighten up/put away, etc.  I had a very rigid order and expected it to be like home.  Well, it isn’t home.  It is a campground!  It is dirt and sand and sticky marshmallows and ash.  And it is wonderful when you don’t let all of that stress you to the max.

Tent vs. Camper:

We have a 1992 Toyota Winnebago.  This rare gem is a dinosaur with great (comparatively speaking) gas mileage.  It sleeps 5 comfortably. ;)  It has a fridge, a stove, a toilet, kitchen sink, and bathroom sink.  We don’t use any of that except the fridge.

Why?  Because we don’t have time to dedicate days upon days of camper preparation, that’s why.  The stove isn’t working, and we don’t want to pay the $300 for a new, tiny camper stove.  And we don’t need it. 

We always pay to stay at the “full hook up” spots.  That means you will have access to an electrical outlet on a pole, and a water spigot at your spot.  Usually there is a picnic table and a fire ring also.  In a state park you will sometimes pay a little bit more for this feature, but it is well worth it.

We plug the RV into the electric hook up.  We use the water from the spigot when we need it.  And we go to the bathroom/shower in the one at the campground.

If you only had a tent, I would highly recommend the full hook-up spot. 

Organization:

Here are some simple ways to organize your trip to make it run smoothly:

1.       Well before you set out to camp, begin picking up small things that you might need for a trip.  I have a small coffee pot from my mom, and a George Foreman grill and toaster oven from the Goodwill for a total cost of about $10.  Get a Rubbermaid tote and put all of your camping appliances in it.  Add to it some aluminum foil, gallon size Ziploc bags, paper plates, cups, and plastic dinnerware, some paper towels, a small jar of dish detergent, hand sanitizer, can opener, extension cord, hand soap to set by the water spigot, salt and pepper, a dish towel and a dish rag, two pot holders, a vinyl tablecloth, and a plastic mixing bowl.  Most of this can be purchased at the Dollar Tree.  You now have a portable kitchen!

2.      You might also gather a Rubbermaid tote and fill it with bedding for your trip.  If you are tent camping you will want to sleep on an air mattress, even if you have an awesome sleeping bag.  You can find sleeping bags at the Goodwill too, very cheap.  They can be washed and dried at home prior to your trip.

3.      Get one more tote ready for “incidentals”:  flashlights, duct tape (trust me), small first aid kit, bug spray, sunscreen, matches, fire starter, etc.  You will also want chairs for around the fire, but if you don’t have room you can just use the picnic table provided. 

4.      I bring some of my own things from home, namely:  cast iron skillet/dutch oven, electric skillet, sometimes a crock pot, spatula, 2 small kitchen knives, a slotted stirring spoon, tongs, and an old fashioned black roaster pan for doing dishes in.  I usually throw this in a laundry basket.  When I get home I return all this to my kitchen.

5.      Put a laminated checklist of each tote’s contents in each tote, and bring a dry erase marker.  Makes packing it back up a breeze.

6.      You will need a decent sized cooler, or better still, borrow one.

Food:

This was the biggest hurdle to my early camping experiences.  I had NO IDEA what to make! I knew that we would go camping, and inevitably there would be That Guy who is over there, roasting a leg of lamb over his fire on a solar-powered spit he whittled out of Popsicle sticks,  and we were over here with a hot dog.  Or there were the Cabela camping divas, with their fancy-pants Coleman stove ($$), Coleman lanterns (cha-ching!), and Yeti coolers (we’re talking lotto winnings here, people). 

I didn’t want the cost of camping to rival an Alaskan cruise.  Nor did I want to eat Bar-S hot dogs for a week.  What was a mom to do?!?

Remember the end goal?  “Focus on my own family. And focus on Mom being a Happy Camper.”

I started to tap into my inner “MomGyver” (if you don’t know who MacGyver is, I question if you are old enough to have your own kids, whipper-snapper) and thought outside the camper.  I thought about what I would do at home if my stove and microwave went out.  And I thought of my electric skillet and crock pot.

Here is a list of what I do for food:

1.  Prep, prep, prep: Chop your veggies at home.  Save in ziplock bags with a paper towel thrown in to curb “wetness” (ewwwww) that ends the life of your lettuce, etc.  Cook meat beforehand in the oven and bring in ziplock bags.  Less fear of food poisoning that way, and less work for you on the trip.  Bring lots of bagged snacks, or pick them up at a store closer to the campground.
2.  Breakfast:  We eat big camping breakfasts.  I make pop-from-the-can cinnamon rolls in the toaster oven.  I make pancakes using Bisquick’s “Shake and Pour” mix, so that I can avoid using a bowl or spoon.  I can fill it with a different, cheaper pancake mix to make more.  I can also use it to scramble eggs.  I can cook those in the cast iron pan ON TOP of my electric skillet!  For bacon or sausage, I bake ALL of it at home before the trip, put it in Ziplock bags, and freeze it fully cooked.  It is very easy to throw that in the oven some night before hand while I am in the kitchen anyway.  Then I just re-heat it on the skillet.  I use butter as my primary cooking oil because it travels solidly (nyuk nyuk nyuk!).  Sometimes we pick up donuts on the way out of town for breakfast.
3.    Lunch:  My lunches are portable, in the event that we want to venture off to swim, hike, or go into town.  I usually do peanut butter and jelly, chips (I buy those bags that have lots of types of chips in them), and fruit and carrots.  That way we can go if the mood strikes us.
4. Supper:  If you have a cast-iron skillet, you can cook on the grate provided (usually, but not always) on your fire pit should you feel adventurous.  I like to use fully cooked meats. I am not trying to food poison my whole family.  So we save, mainly for camping, kielbasa as a treat!  We make kielbasa sandwiches, and fry potatoes in the skillet.  My family loves it.  We have also done:  
1.    Tacos/burritos/rice:  make meat ahead, cut up veggies ahead, cook and freeze rice
2.   Soup:  I have used my crock pot for this when we have played all day.
3.   Flatbread pizzas:  make pizzas, heat up in toaster oven.
4.   Always have s’more supplies for dessert!  Or store bought cookie dough for the toaster oven. 

   

   Pancakes and the beginnings of a "pizza breakfast skillet".  This is inside our little RV.

   
   

   

   Cinnamon roll bacon face breakfast. 

Above all, don’t sweat it.  Have fun with your kids and that is what they will remember:  the time that Mom caught a “rock fish” (on my pole!  I felt like Charlie Brown at Halloween!), when Dad rode our son’s small bike, etc.  That is what this is:  a time to recharge.  EVEN for Mom.  She needs it too.

What have you done to make your camping trips more enjoyable?

P.S.  If you have firewood restrictions in your area, you will probably have to buy it where you are camping. 

Lessons from Elijah

Today the kids and I learned about the prophet Elijah.  Elijah was a tough as nails prophet sent to talk to King Ahab.  King Ahab, bad as he was, wasn't the worst----that title was earned by his wife, Jezebel.

Jezebel hated God, and as a result, hated all representation of God.  I imagine her as a vindictive, spiteful, awful woman who was convicted over her sins and not only refused to repent, but wished to strike every memory of God from her person so that she would not be reminded of her sin.  She was not submissive; she led with an iron fist. She wanted her way.

Elijah told Ahab that Israel would have no rain until he said so.  And with that, the voice of the Lord led Elijah to a little brook that had not yet dried up so that he might drink, and fed him. . .

from ravens.

Yep.  He received, from the ravens, bread and meat two times a day.

Think about this:  why a raven?

Well. . . .a raven could fly to somewhere far away to GET meat and bread.  According to Wikipedia, a raven is a survivor because "they are extremely versatile and opportunistic in finding sources of nutrition, feeding on carrion, insects, cereal grains, berries, fruit, small animals, and food waste."  They are highly intelligent birds, able to problem solve and avoid capture.  


God used ravens because they were perfect, just the way He had already created them. They obeyed His command and never, ever wavered in their duty.

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This election is really a pretty awful time.  It can cause a lot of worry and fear about the future for people who belong to Jesus.  We worry about our Christian liberties being taken away, about the laws changing into a form of legal persecution somewhere not too far down the road, about our American rights being stripped from us. We can get angry or upset about it to the point that it causes us to sin with anger or hate, or other things I am guilty of too.  

But what I saw today in my study was that, here is Elijah, simply following God in a time of terrible persecution, upheaval, and Israel not looking a thing at all like God's people in the way they were being led and in what they were doing, and in the midst of great turmoil and grief and sorrow. . . 

Elijah was fed by ravens.

Can you just imagine?  Imagine the starvation all around-----remember Katrina?  Remember how desperate people acted in a time of great calamity?  And yet God led Elijah to a quiet place of rest, and FED HIM BY RAVENS!  

Sometimes God has to get us in a hard spot so we can see the miracles that He does for us every day. 

If our country is headed for a hard spot, and you are a child of the Most High, be prepared.

Not to store boxes of ammo, not to boil water, not to get your Canadian passport ready. . . .
 
But be ready, by putting on your whole armor. . . .and simply follow God. 
 
And no doubt, He will make a miraculous provision for you.  

Psalms 37:25  "I have been young, and now am old; yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread."

May you have a blessed day,
Sandra

Dear Mom,

This year I sent you a card that said, "when I thank God for my blessings, I thank Him for You."

This is very true.  There have been many times when I have humbly thanked Him for loaning me to YOU specifically, as it has made me who I am today.  Today, I am mothering my own brood.  Because of your lasting impact on me, I realize (sometimes stifling under the overwhelming sense of it all), the lasting impact I will have on my own children----good or bad.

From you, I learned the importance of the presence of a "soft mom".  You were never a flashy, sensational, red-lipstick-and-short-skirt mom.  I never felt that I had to compete with you, because you were Mom and stayed there.  You didn't try to become my friend or my peer.  And you didn't expect me to be yours, either.  You were Mom and I was a child.  You were also an employee, a daughter, a sister.  But those worlds didn't collide with mine too much, because you didn't make it about "you".  I never felt like you were burdened by me or my needs.  You were just there.  You smelled good, you had a soft voice, kind hands, and gentle nature, even when we called you every single afternoon at Evenflo Products to see what time you would be home, knowing you would be home at the same time every day.  When I am tempted, so very often, to make my mothering journey about "ME". . . I remember you.  I remember that, although I am sure now you experienced fatigue and burnout beyond measure, I didn't hear that from you.  For that, I thank you.

From you, I learned to find joy in simplicity.  We loved, and still do, the thrill of a great thrift-store bargain.  We both enjoy old recipes, dark chocolate, ice cream eaten in the car, nature, taking a walk, standing back and looking at something we just weeded, cleaned, or organized.  We appreciate anything that can keep our hair out of our face, and clothes that don't need to be ironed.  We both scoff at the notion of being a millionaire and how we just still would not be able to bring ourselves to buy things at full-price.  We are generic groceries, generic children's vitamins, re-purposers, and dare I admit. . . washers of disposable cups and good "quality" plastic silver ware, which I swore ad nauseam I would never, ever do.  We are both Mom-Gyver, able to fix broken toys or toilet flappers with dental floss and a paper clip.  When I am tempted to grow discontented with my ever-so familiar surroundings of ancient linoleum and nude wallpaper, I think of you.  I think of how you grew up without the benefit of indoor plumbing or generous portions, and were able to find fun in working for all that you had.  I think of how you don't have a great need for new house-things, and how we lived in a tiny duplex with shag carpet covered with toys.  For that example, I am thankful.  God knew I would be in a spot where I would have to learn contentment, and I believe He used you to help cultivate that in me.

From you, I learned to find the weak and the wounded, and give them extra care.  I learned to spot out the old folks and hold doors, carry groceries to the car, and make small talk.  I learned to show special attention to the kids whose faces and clothes are the dirtiest.  I learned to be gracious to the awkward, and that the greatest humiliation was not for those caught being in the company of "undesirable" folks, but for those who treat the less fortunate with cruelty or indifference.  I learned to use cooking and baking as a means of showing comfort or care to neighbors. I watched you care for your mother with a special, thoughtful attentiveness.  I watched you care for your less-than gracious mother-in-law with infinite patience.   For this, I am thankful.  When I grow weary of those who need me so, I think of your example.  I think of how I can Just. Do. It. and do it without grumbling or complaining or worrying about what I "deserve".

From you, I learned that it is OK to be embarrassingly silly if it will evoke laughter from a child. Whether it was playing "Lady of Spain" on the accordion window fan, or telling super fast bedtime stories so we would finally GO TO SLEEP, I learned that Mom was fun.  I learned that puns are fantastic and that witty, sarcastic humor and a sense of rhyme can bring levity to nearly any situation, even when it involves cremated remains.  For this, I am thankful.  I am sort of the kid Pied piper, much like yourself, and when I do anything silly like you our kids always say, "you sound just like Nani."

So Mom, thank you.  Thank you for setting yourself aside for the betterment of me.  Thank you for teaching. . . by doing.  I love you and hope that you have a wonderful day, and I truly desire all of God's richest blessings for you!

Love,
Sandra

Judge not

Eggshells.

We were all on eggshells this morning.  Three of my children woke up on the wrong side of the continent and were doing their due diligence to disrupt the peaceful morning that I was determined to have.

This is becoming an all-too-familiar scene: out of diapers, out of potty training, and out of biting, I have entered, “bickering”.  Bickering, backbiting, and selfishness.  There are days that I feel like I could trade my blouse for a black and white striped shirt and blow a whistle all day long, calling foul after foul and assessing penalty after penalty.  I grow oh-so-weary of it.  I am sometimes weary of it before I even get out of bed!  The inmates are attempting a hostile takeover of the asylum, and I wrongfully at times feel powerless.  I reach for the referee outfit in reactionary posture, and forget that I am really the coach.

Today it was a Pharisee-fest.  I had four little Pharisees, tooting their own horns, calling out law violators, no one listening, not one sign of honest repentance in sight.  Any schedule progress had ceased. 

I didn’t just have Pharisees.  I had judges.

So we sat down to morning Bible story.  I am again, grateful and humble, and thankful that God meets me in the chaos.  He meets in real time, when I need Him, and when my kids need Him.  When I first  started doing Bible time with my kids, I believe that I was the one reaping the most benefit.  And while that feeling still holds true, I now can see that He is giving my children exactly what they need, too.

Although I wanted to pounce all over Philippians 4:8 because I had heard one too many “jerk!”’s and “it’s not fair!”s, and did talk about that with them later, the Spirit was gently nudging me over to Matthew, to the words of Jesus.  To “judge not”.

“Judge not, that ye be not judged.   For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.   And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?   Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye?  Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye.”--------Matthew 7:1-5

I had the opportunity to serve on jury duty in December of this past year.  A juror is able to hear all of the evidence.  She is educated in the requirements of the law, and the stipulations under which she can decide innocence or guilt. As a collective group, the jurors reach a verdict. They are expected to do so and are charged with deciding honestly and justly.   But the execution of punishment is up to the judge. 

Why?  Well, the judge has also heard all of the evidence.  There are additional facts in a case and facts about a defendant that judges have and jurors are not privy to. But probably most importantly, the judge is the expert in the law and what it requires as a penalty.

 

I can see behaviors in our world, and when supported by evidence and by knowledge of God’s commandments, can render a verdict.  But I am not the one to issue the penalty. 

God is a perfect judge.  He has intimate knowledge of each of us which we don’t have of ourselves.  He knows our motives, our weaknesses, our hurts and fears, our desires.  He knows where we have been, where we are, and where we are going.  He has a perfect, all-encompassing viewpoint of the circumstances of each and every person who has ever, or will, live. 

With a log in my own eye, my vision is distorted.  When I want to be the judge of my Christian brothers and sisters, I want to elevate myself to be like God.  Not only can I not see them fully or me fully, I have a huge log in my own eye: pride.  As long as that pride remains, I will never see clearly.  I will operate out of a distorted view of others, and will accomplish absolutely nothing for the Lord.  I will be as a “clanging brass or cymbal”, offensive to all and blind to my own hypocrisy.  I will not sow, and therefore will not reap.

And when I judge the world-----not  being a juror, but being a JUDGE------and executing  the punishment of not sharing the gospel because I feel like I  have been offended by their actions toward me, or just by their sin in general------how can I possibly be keeping His commandments?  “If ye love me,” He said, “keep my commandments.”  How can we follow the Great Commission as a judge?

No------we must follow it as a servant.  After all, we aren’t the ones who are being offended.  God is, and He is the one who wants us to go unto the broken and the sin-sick and share His love.  (I realize that Paul said that the saints shall judge the world, and shall judge angels, in 1 Corinthians 6.  But that “shall” tells us it is for a future time.)    

When my children judge one another by using cross words or other acts of retaliation, do you know who gets judged?  They do.  They are judged and punished  for their retaliatory deeds.  If they would worry about correcting their own character flaws, they would be happier, more humble, more grateful, and we would have a more peaceful, joyful day.  They would accomplish so much more by working together! 

Sisters, what would our churches look like if they were filled with servants of one another, instead of a Supreme Court?  How much love could we pour out onto this dying, desperate, hurting, sinful world?  How much more Jesus would they see?

I would love to tell you that the bickering ceased.  It did for a time, most of the day in fact.  We had an opportunity to confess the logs in our own eyes, myself included.  We went around the table and complimented one another, some begrudgingly, others willfully.

Sometimes as a mama I have to remind myself that I am mainly a servant, and not a judge all of the time.  I can judge my children’s behavior, and I am expected to and to act accordingly.  But the heart matters are left up to the Lord.  I inform, I train, and I pray for, but the work in their hearts is God’s work to do.  I have to trust that the wisdom they get from me, that I get from Him, will be like my Brussels sprout seeds-----buried deep, with all the right elements in place, but waiting on a whisper from Him to get moving.

Love to you all-----

Sandra

Book Review: "And It Was Beautiful"

I received  a copy of the book, And It Was Beautiful, by Kara Tippetts, in exchange for an unbiased review.

And It Was Beautiful  tells the story of the end of the life of Kara Tippetts, a 39-year-old pastor’s wife whose life was cut short by metastatic breast cancer.  The mother of four young children and friend to many valiantly battled breast cancer using conventional therapies in an attempt to live as long as she could.  This book chronicles much of that journey, as it is a compilation of her well-read blog, “Mundane Faithfulness”.  Although the story is a tragic one, it is not the tragedy that makes the story. 

Kara was a beautiful person.  I feel as though she and I would have been wonderful friends, and I am sure that I am not the only person who didn’t meet her in this life that holds that opinion.  You see, this story is one of triumph.  Not triumph over cancer, and not triumph over circumstances.  But triumph over SELF.  Kara truly did see the grace that God provided to her at every single twist and turn in her story.  And she so very often chose faith over fear.  She chose His goodness over her desires, and His plans over her time frame.  Her writings are a modern-day primer on suffering.  Kara's writing style is informal and conversational, while simultaneously holding much depth.  This book would make a great devotional-type read, particularly for those who are in the midst of suffering.  It is a humbling reality-check to our selfish natures.  It truly would be good for those who ask that age-old question, “But where is God in my suffering?”

Reading this book is a precise and particular reminder that He is right there, with outstretched arms of love, all of the time.  

http://litfusegroup.com/author/ktippetts 

Come Unto Me

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.---Matthew 11:28

I am coming, ever so slowly, out of a "Martha Season".

Each December I enter one.  I work and I bake and I clean and I shop and I wrap and I perfect all the details I possibly can and I don't want anyone ANYWHERE to feel left out so I do for them too and I agonize over spending money and meeting USPS shipping deadlines and neglecting my husband and then I get grouchy and my life spins out of my control and and and and. . . ..

Nearly 20 years of marriage.  Nearly 20 Christmases together.  Out of those, I have not Martha'd only one Christmas, when I had just rolled out of an RV the month prior nearly 3000 miles away from the only life I ever knew, and had to buy ornaments at the Goodwill. I don't remember what I bought or did for the holiday that year.  I just know that I wasn't exhausted or grouchy.   

The exhaustion and grouchiness are not the worst part of the Martha season. No, not even the strained relationships which I have to mend (husband), that's not the worst part. The worst part is neglecting and straining my relationship with Jesus. . . 

. . . .who I am supposed to be celebrating. 

Then, when the hustle and bustle is over and it is quiet, and yet I am still exhausted and even more grouchy, I slowly come to my senses and realize that, in giving away to everyone else, I have lost something.

My joy.

Oh, there were red flags. Warnings unheeded.  Up too late, no time made to really, seriously pray, physical exhaustion, falling back on unhealthy coping mechanisms, tongue a little too loose, getting all fired up by social and political issues, waking up annoyed at the tasks that lay ahead of me that day, snapping at my children, wrestling the leadership away from the hubby.

The Great Physician has a course of treatment for this.

"Humble yourself in the sight of the Lord, and he shall lift you up."

"Draw nigh unto him, and he will draw nigh unto you."

"They that observe lying vanities forsake their own mercy."

There are times in this life where I know what to do. I have had to do it a lot. I have done this Martha-ing a lot.  I have always and forever struggled with being a doer on my own terms.  Isn't that what our sister struggled with?  She was trying, bless her heart, to serve the Lord.  Her way.  On her strength.

But even though I know what I need to do, I need God to help me do it.  So I asked Him to help humble me.  Soon it came----the feelings of lowness, sadness even, mourning my loss of fellowship with the Lord, needing to ask forgiveness for straying away, a burden that needed relief.  And so it was I found myself, finally, in my prayer spot, seeking His face.  Starting awkwardly, but starting, and just asking Him to give me what I needed, because I don't even know what I need, beyond the fact that I KNOW THAT HE HAS IT.

And oh sisters. . . .it came. Boy did it come!  Just love. . .washed over me in an overwhelming, all encompassing, all satisfying, never thirsting again fashion, leaving me crying out for more mercy, and Him loving me more, and me praising and thanking, and Him loving, and 

WOW that is AWESOME!  

Oh my goodness----there is nothing more we need in this life!  Nothing!  The next day I awoke, still struggling a bit until I prayed.  There I could honestly thank Him for the day ahead and feel that thanksgiving in my soul, thank Him for the job of motherhood and my children, pray sincerely for my husband's day, pray with a heartbreaking love for the brothers and sisters in my church, and for many of you good sisters reading this right now.  I have already seen the fruits of some of these prayers.

I could ask Him for a job to do, a person's life I could touch through Him, for the lost, for a fiery conviction of unrest and brokenness to rain down on those I love who need Him.  

Oh sister, do you need rest?  Do you need to know that "The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms"?    

His work for us is that we trust and obey.  Trust Him----with our time, our commitments, our schedules, our budgets, by making our alone time with Him a priority-----and obey His word, in study, in prayer. . . 

In repentance.

In behavior changes.

In thanksgiving and praise.

In the specific job that He gives us.  Not the ones we think He has given us, or the ones we think we need to do for Him.  

In digging deeper in His word in study, and allowing the Spirit to reveal more of His beauty to us.

"Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there? why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?"---Jeremiah 8:22

Sister, He is the best father we could ever ask for.  He loves you and desires your fellowship.

You are loved,  and your prayers for me are appreciated.

Sandra :)